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MARK

MARK

He was in the first third grade class I taught at Saint Mary's School inMorris, Minn. All 34 of my students were dear to me, but Mark Eklund wasone in a million. Very neat in appearance, but had that happy-to-be-aliveattitude that made even his occasional mischievousness delightful.

Mark talked incessantly. I had to remind him again and again that talkingwithout permission was not acceptable. What impressed me so much, though,was his sincere response every time I had to correct him for misbehaving -"Thank you for correcting me, Sister!"I didn't know what to make of it atfirst, but before long I became accustomed to hearing it many times a day.

One morning my patience was growing thin when Mark talked once too often,and then I made a novice teacher's mistake. I looked at Mark and said, "Ifyou say one more word, I am going to tape your mouth shut!"

It wasn't ten seconds later when Chuck blurted out, "Mark is talkingagain." I hadn't asked any of the students to help me watch Mark, but sinceI had stated the punishment in front of the class, I had to act on it. Iremember the scene as if it had occurred this morning. I walked to my desk,very deliberately opened my drawer and took out a roll of masking tape.Without saying a word, I proceeded to Mark's desk, tore off two pieces oftape and made a big X with them over his mouth. I then returned to thefront of the room.

As I glanced at Mark to see how he was doing, he winked at me.

That did it!! I started laughing. The class cheered as I walked back toMark's desk, removed the tape, and shrugged my shoulders. His first wordswere, "Thank you for correcting me, Sister."

At the end of the year, I was aske to teach junior-high math. The yearsflew by, and before I knew it Mark was in my classroom again. He was morehandsome than ever and just as polite. Since he had to listen carefully tomy instruction in the "new math," he did not talk as much in ninth grade ashe had in third.

One Friday, things just didn't feel right. We had worked hard on a newconcept all week, and I sensed that the students were frowning, frustratedwith themselves and edgy with one another.I had to stop this crankinessbefore it got out of hand. So I asked them to list the names of the otherstudents in the room on two sheets of paper, leaving a space between eachname. Then I told them to think of the nicest thing they could say abouteach of their classmates and write it down. It took the remainder thestudents left the room, each one handed me the papers. Charlie smiled. Marksaid, "Thank you for teaching me, Sister. Have a good weekend."

That Saturday, I wrote down the name of each student on a separate sheet ofpaper, and I listed what everyone else had said about that individual. OnMonday I gave each student his or her list. Before long, the entire class was smiling.

No one ever mentioned those papers in class again. I never knew if theydiscussed them after class or with their parents, but it didn't matter. Theexercise had accomplished its purpose. The students were happy withthemselves and one another again.

That group of students moved on. Several years later, after I returned fromvacation, my parents met me at the airport. As we were driving home, Motherasked me the usual questions about the trip, the weather, my experiences ingeneral. There was a lull in the conversation. Mother gave Dad a sidewaysglance and simply says, "Dad?" My father cleared his throat as he usuallydid before something important.

"The Eklunds called last nigh," he began.

"Really?" I said. "I haven't heard from them in years. I wonder how Markis."

Dad responded quietly. "Mark was killed in Vietnam," he said. "The funeralis tomorrow, and his parents would like it if you could attend."

To this day I can still point to the exact spot on I-494 where Dad told meabout Mark.

I had never seen a serviceman in a military coffin before. Mark looked sohandsome, so mature. All I could think at that moment was, "Mark I wouldgive all the masking tape in the world if only you would talk to me."

The church was packed with Mark's friends. Chuck's sister sang "The BattleHymn of the republic." Why did it have to rain on the day of the funeral?It was difficult enough at the graveside. The pastor said the usualprayers, and the bugler played taps.

One by one those who loved Mark took a last walk by the coffin andsprinkled it with holy water. I was the last one to bless the coffin. As Istood there, one of the soldiers who acted as pallbearer came up to me."Were you Mark's math teacher?" he asked. I nodded as I continued to stareat the coffin. "Mark talked about you a lot," he said.

After the funeral, most of Mark's former classmates headed to Chuck'sfarmhouse for lunch. Mark's mother and father were there, obviously waitingfor me. "We want to show you something," his father said, taking a walletout of his pocket.

"They found this on Mark when he was killed. We thought you might recognizeit."

Opening the billfold, he carefully removed two worn pieces of notebookpaper that had obviously been taped, folded and refolded many times. I knewwithout listed all the good things each of Mark's classmates had said abouthim.

"Thank you so much for doing that," Mark's mother said. Mark's classmatesstarted to gather around us.

Charlie smiled rather sheepishly and said, "I still have my list. It's inthe top drawer of my desk at home."

Chuck's wife said, "Chuck asked me to put his in our wedding album."

"I have mine too," Marilyn said. "It's in my diary." Then Vicki, anotherclassmate, reached into her pocketbook, took out her wallet and showed herworn and frazzled list to the group.

"I carry this with me at all times," Vicki said without batting an eyelash."I think we all saved our lists."

That's when I finally sat down and cried. I cried for Mark and for all hisfriends who would never see him again.

Written by: Sister Helen P. Mrosla The density of people in society is sothick that we forget that life will end one day. And we don't know whenthat one day will be. So please, tell the people you love and care for,that they are special and important. Tell them, today, before it is toolate.

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USCG News

25 May 2019

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